Christine Flynn - Forbidden Love

She pointedly turned to the house, putting her heart into the effort anyway. She had been young and impressionable then, but she was adult enough now to know that it was only memories making her feel those old conflicts. That, and being back in Cedar Lake, back in a place where she would perpetually feel the insecurities of being seventeen.

“Mind if I go inside and wash up? I could use some soap.”

Nick’s deep voice vibrated over her nerves like the roll of distant thunder. Her stomach jumped. Pressing her hand to it, she turned to see him a few feet behind her on the concrete patio.

He’d washed out the wheelbarrow with the hose at the side of the house. Skimming a glance past the water-darkened spots on his jeans, she dropped her hand to her side. “Go ahead,” she murmured, wondering if he’d ever suspected how she’d felt about him. She would have died of mortification if he had. “Take the door to the left inside the kitchen. It’s the first door on your right in the hall.”

He glanced from the gas jets sending flame over the metal coals. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I’ll call if there’s a fire.”

She saw the corner of his mouth kick up in what almost passed for a smile, then watched him take the six back stairs two at a time and disappear into the house. Moments later, she followed, making herself concentrate only on the task of feeding him. The man was probably famished. Considering what she’d seen some of the older boys at school pack away, she had the feeling one little hamburger wasn’t going to cut it.

It took her mere minutes to throw the patties on the gas grill, pile sliced tomato, onions and cheese on a plate and gather condiments and buns and set them on the table on the back lawn. She was on her way back in after flipping the meat when she met Nick coming into the kitchen.

He’d washed his face. Splashed water on it, anyway. The neck of his shirt was damp and his thick hair was darkened to almost black from the water he’d used when he combed it. She didn’t know if it was because he’d combed his hair straight back or because it was darker, but his chiseled features seemed more elegant, somehow, the blue of his eyes more intense.

Preferring to ignore the catch in her pulse, she set a small sack of chips on top of a container of deli salad she’d taken from the fridge.

“Go on out,” she said, balancing the salad and chips in one hand as she reached for the napkins, utensils and plates. A bunch of grapes she’d rinsed sat in a bowl by the sink. “It’s just about ready,” she told him, thinking she’d have to make one more trip.

“What do you want me to take?”

“Nothing. I’ve got it,” she insisted, and decided to stack the plates on top of the bowl.

Seeing what she was trying to do, ignoring her disclaimer, he took the bowl himself.

“Is this everything?” he asked.

She hesitated. “I could heat some baked beans if you want. There’s canned goods in the pantry. Or I have some yogurt. Except for cereal, this is all I have. I didn’t buy much at the store.”

Confusion flashed in his eyes. Seconds later, comprehension replaced it. “I’m not talking about what you’re fixing for dinner, Amy. Whatever you have here is fine. I mean to take outside. There’s no reason for you to carry all this by yourself.”

“Oh,” she murmured, aware of the brush of his hand against hers as he took the chips and salad. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmured in return, and moved ahead of her so he could hold the door.

The sun had just dropped below the horizon, the pale light of evening turning the pine trees a dusky shade of blue. The calm water of the lake reflected nothing but shadows, crickets called to each other and from the rocks along the water’s edge the deep croak of frogs filtered through the balmy air.

Amy was acutely aware of the twilight stillness as she took what Nick carried for her and placed it on the old redwood picnic table that sat halfway between the house and the water. It was a time of day she had once found welcoming and restful. Since she’d been in Cedar Lake this time, it had simply seemed lonely.

She attributed the unfamiliar feeling to the isolation of the place, and the fact that she was there by herself. She was accustomed to feeling isolated when it came to her family, but this was different. She’d never been at the lake house alone before, and it felt odd without her grandmother around. As Nick lowered himself to the long bench opposite her seat, she had to admit it felt even more strange to be alone there with him.

Her glance caught his across the table. The way he was watching her, he didn’t look all that certain about being there, either.

Refusing to let her gesture turn uncomfortable for them both, she handed him the relish plate. “Help yourself,” she said, and reached for the salad she really didn’t want.

He immediately took her up on her suggestion, piling tomato slices on his cheeseburger. “I always thought it would seem like one long vacation living in a place like this. On the water, I mean. I used to really envy the kids who could hang around a lake during the summer.”

“You make it sound as if you never had access to one. There are dozens of lakes around here.”

“That doesn’t mean I had the time,” he informed her, adding lettuce. “I spent every summer from the time I was ten years old working construction with my uncle. We’d go out to Blue Springs for a Sunday picnic once in a while,” he said, speaking of one of the public lakes in the area, “but there was never time to spend a whole day just hanging out.” Adding the top bun to the three-inch-high sandwich, he nodded toward the water. “It’s nice here.”

His tone was conversational, his manner less guarded than it had seemed just a short while ago. She figured that had to do with the fact that she was feeding him. It would be rude of him to be sullen.

“You worked construction when you were ten?”

“From then through college,” he confirmed, taking the container of salad she handed him.

“That’s awfully young.” It was also unconscionable, she thought. A ten-year-old was merely a child.

An image of him as a young boy wavered in the back of her mind as she watched him spoon pasta salad onto his plate. She could easily imagine the fresh, eager faces of her male students and all that budding manhood trapped in their energetic little bodies. But there was too much of an edge to the man sitting across from her for her to imagine him that innocent.

He handed the salad back.

“I was hardly an abused child, if that’s what you’re thinking.” From the troubled look on her face, Nick had the distinct feeling that it was. The woman was as transparent as window glass. She always had been. “I had to beg Uncle Mike to take me with him at first. If I remember right, I promised I’d wash his truck for him if he’d let me go.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to stay with my aunt and cousins while my mom was at work. It’s not that I didn’t like my relatives,” he qualified, in case she got the wrong idea there, too. “It was just that they were all female. There was more appeal to being with the guys and wearing a hard hat than being around a bunch of girls.”

Realizing she was still holding the salad, she set it aside and absently reached for the tomatoes herself. She had no problem imagining a young boy preferring the company of men over girls. She just couldn’t imagine a responsible adult allowing a child to deliberately be where it wasn’t safe. “But wasn’t that dangerous? A child being at a construction site, I mean?”

“It sounds more dangerous than it was.” Nick took a bite of burger, wondering as he did if she realized how much of her guard had slipped. By the time he swallowed, he’d decided she hadn’t simply forgotten to be wary. He actually detected real concern. “Mike had a partner back then,” he explained, wanting her to know there was no way his uncle would have put him in jeopardy. “And the company was bigger. He and Roy, his partner,” he clarified, “supervised the jobs, rather than actually working on them the way Mike does now.”